“What I am most guilty of these days
is a last line of defense:
a tight fist
in my coat pocket. I unlock the door
and head straight for bed. The floor is as cold
as fresh snow on sidewalks. It does not glow as well, and I want
to be soft again, but I have forgotten how. I swallow sins
like it is nothing. I treat my friends badly. What I am most guilty of is crying in the back seat
but lying about it. Is feeling so awful
that I can’t move for days. It is the way
I say sorry when I do not mean it. If you asked if I was fine,
I would lie and say yes. But I know no one will ask. When I speak my mind,
I cannot stand feeling so evil. I swallow words.
I lie, and try to imagine a world
where people need me. This isn’t high school.
I am invited to the parties but that does not
make it any easier. When my mother calls, I tell her I am doing alright.
I stay up every night
and I’m sick. I am trying to imagine a world
where I show up wanted. When I wake up in the morning
the air tastes tired and tart. My heart
cannot take much more of it. The words I speak don’t sit right
in my stomach. I pretend that I have asked for it. In the morning I arch my back into a bridge
so people can climb over it. I let my spine take lethal hits,
and apologize for not breaking
more cleanly. Apologize for crying inconveniently
after they hit me. But the truth is this:
I am hurt, and I am lonely,
What I am guilty of
is never coming home early. Is smiling at parties,
and saying: this is beautiful. Thank you for having me.
I am so happy
to be here.”
— A Note on Execution; Hannah Beth Ragland (via allmymetaphors)
“I always talk like I’m a stone Act like I’m a storm I’m starting to realize
That while that may be how I was born, it’s not who I am now Somehow as I grew
I must have shrunk too
Because what was once an army inside me made of men with bow and arrow
Is now just the remnants of a child’s whisper “maybe tomorrow” I’m no longer a hurricane, no longer a tidal wave
At most a wisp of wind, maybe the dew that dies before anyone is awake to see it I promise
I used to be a fire
Everyone saw it People stepped out of the way when I came in their direction
Correction,
I pushed them. I was once a boulder
Now just a grain of sand
I was a land destroying forest fire
Now the flicker of a candle And
Maybe this really isn’t the kind of life I was made to handle.”
